


Hit A Glitch

by spookyleo



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BARF Technology, BARF sadness, M/M, Messy Breakup, Post-Civil War (Marvel), enjoy lads, ghh idek what? this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo/pseuds/spookyleo
Summary: Tony tries to use BARF technology to get him through the messiest breakup of all time. Doesn't really work. Expect angst.





	Hit A Glitch

**Author's Note:**

> Woahhhh i actually finished a thing??? And it's more than like 500 words!!! Enjoy!

There’s this feeling, an irredeemable, nonsensical, grotesque feeling, that Tony had become accustomed to by now. It’s the feeling of falling, of short circuiting, cutting out, and tumbling, arms first, flailing without the possibility of safety, watching the sparkling New York City lights below loom ever closer through a glitching display like a galaxy of terrible stars, unable to do a damn thing about it.

It’s that feeling that woke Tony up, again, in a cold sweat, a weak cry coming from his throat like a strangled scream. His breathing was irregular as he came back to himself, and slowly, he calmed down. Just a dream.

The blinking blue display of the clock beside the bed that once was shared let Tony know that it was 4:17 in the morning.  He remembered only getting to sleep at 2. His breaths quivered in the empty room.

“Morning, boss,” FRIDAY’s voice echoed, filling up the space with what sounded like? Concern? In her tone. Had Tony programmed her with concern?

“Seems you had another nightmare,” Yeah, no shit.

“They’re just bad dreams. Must be something I’m eating.”

FRIDAY was able to pick up heart signals and brain activity, as well as monitoring everything Tony ate or drank. He knew this ruse wasn’t gonna slip by, but hey, telling the truth about his mental health wasn’t really in his nature.

“Boss, you haven’t eaten anything more than a toaster waffle in the last three days.”

Yeah.

Tony swallowed.

“Hey, FRIDAY. Pull up that BARF program I’ve been working through.”

“Can do.” FRIDAY wasn’t quite back to her usual chipper tone, but she didn’t seem to push any more questions.

The BARF program in question was for a memory that Tony had stuck in his head on repeat. That was how his brain somehow worked – certain things playing on loop like a broken mp3 file, other things disappearing only to pulled from the trash folder by anything that reminded him of it at all.

 

“He’s my friend.”

“So was I.”

“He’s my friend.”

“So was I.”

“He’s my friend.”

_“So was I.”_

 

The exchange had flown around Tony’s head on repeat for what? Two, three weeks? It was difficult for him to keep track of time. He had sometimes wondered if  time was passing at all. But over the whole three or four or however many weeks, his fight with Steve had been in his thoughts constantly.

Every time he had played through it, he changed something else. Sometimes, Bucky had never been there, and it was just him and Steve. Sometimes, Tony would fall to his knees, tears in his eyes and blood on the face of the interpretation of himself in the memory. He could never remember who’s blood it was, and so, even in BARF, it remained a mystery. Those times, he’d beg, pull himself over to the Captain’s leg, sob into the duel protection bulletproof material of Steve’s suit, the material Tony had spent days designing and constructing and creating. Breathe in Steve’s scent. His scent was emblazoned in Tony’s mind. Sometimes he was sure he could still smell Steve in the rooms they once shared.

It was strange, to live inside one’s head, relive the past over and over, and over and over. Anyone else might forget what actually happened, repress those thoughts and keep them sealed in the ziplock bag that would be the cover story they forced themselves to believe. To cope. To survive. But every second of the fight between Tony and his former lover, his former best friend, was vivid in his mind, as if it were just yesterday.

As Tony walked into the white blocks he’d cleared his lab to place, he rubbed his hands over his eyes, softly slapped his own cheeks, as if to prepare himself. Picked up the glasses that would launch him inside his own brain.

“FRIDAY, launch application.”

And he was back.

“Analyse his fight pattern,” this was the bit that usually stayed the same. Tony would have created simulations of the entire last six months worth of conversations with Steve, but time, space, and energy were limiting factors. So he ended up sticking to the silo, that final battle that had never once left Tony’s thoughts since it happened.

BARF technology could also recreate pain.

Tony felt like he was on fire all over again – and he knew what that was like. His left ankle faltered somewhat underneath him. The hostile familiarity of the sensation of choking lingered in his throat once again.

And again, the unmistakeable heartache of realising the one you love the most is leaving you replaced the heartbreak he feel after Steve had left. Tony could never decide which felt worse.

“Scanning,” FRIDAY’s familiar response called out. Steve was landing blow after blow on Tony, each punch and each hit from the shield leaving behind an aching bruise, even through the metal suit Tony was encased in.

“Countermeasures ready.”

But this time, Tony didn’t want to keep going with this stuff. The stuff he usually skimmed through, the stuff that stayed there for the sheer sake of ‘seeing’ the super soldier again.

“Wait, no.” And in the simulation, Steve dropped the shield from where was about to deliver another hit.

“Tony.” Steve saying his name was like coming home. His voice was like liquid gold, like honey dripping on Tony’s tongue.

“Cancel attack.”

A blast of blue energy escaped from Tony’s gauntlet.

And Steve’s eyes were filled with pain.

“FRIDAY.” Tony never let his eyes leave Steve’s as the soldier began to crumple, fall to his knees as his hands moved to the wound made in his chest.

“FR- FRIDAY, what’s going on?” Tony’s voice shook as he dropped to his own knees, crawling across to Steve, metal clad arms shakily enveloping the other man as blood began to bubble at the elder’s lips.

“FRIDAY.”

“So sorry, boss, seems we’ve hit a glitch.”

The simulation crumbled down around Tony, Steve evaporating from his arms as he watched, breaking into still, lifeless pixels before fading into nothingness.

And there Tony was, on his knees, in the middle of his lab, crying, again.


End file.
